<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Mon Petit Minou by AQuietThinker</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760751">Mon Petit Minou</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker'>AQuietThinker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dunkirk (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Flashbacks, Fluff, France - Freeform, French Characters, Gen, Gibson (Dunkirk) Lives, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28760751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As the train kept moving swiftly through the English countryside, Philippe coudnt help but think of the times without war with his sister.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex &amp; Gibson &amp; Tommy (Dunkirk), Gibson &amp; Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Pre-war prompt</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mon Petit Minou</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I did it! Its angsty but sweet! Its before the deadline!<br/>Its also the first time I add a very direct oc to a fic.</p>
<p>Quick note for on of the first paragraphs- Haussman is the guy responsible for Paris having uniform buildings of the same style.<br/>IMPORTANT: Petite copine means girlfriend in french.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep didn't come as easy to him as it did for the others- Tommy wrapped up in one of the military-issued, and his saviour, Alex, smoking for a good half hour before curling up in his corner of the train.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as he wanted to sleep, the fear of drowning after closing his eyes was too great to ignore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wished he was home- but not that hell plagued beach they had just left, no. He wanted Dourdan, his hometown and a place where most of his memories were pure and comforting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dourdan was a deep contrast to Haussman’s limestone buildings, with small, three floor brownstones and symmetrical brick paths. An elongated wall enveloped the market square, made of stone and marking medieval times along with the Chateau, which was now a few pitiful ruins along with its tower, that seemed to be the highest construction in all the commune. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a child in summer mornings, he would run through the market stalls, stuffed with fish and cheese vendors, aiming naughty hands to steal a handful of olives. He was only caught twice, and managed to scramble away the second time before the owner of the stall could drag him by the ears to his grandmother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During the afternoons he would take long walks with his sister as he talked about his day and other unimportant childish dramas, and she would listen carefully and note each of his friends or details with the love of tigress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violaine Guillet meant the world to Philippe. She was his hero, with waves of black hair which she constantly cut short in the fashion of american films. She would wear wide legged trousers or overalls with puffy white blouses that showed her neck line, earning irritated gasps from the older women of town. However, she never aknowledged their indignation, and walked herself with pride, chin pointing up and lips curved into a deep red smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they walked in the fields, while Philippe would always manage to scrape his knees and return home in a dusty layer of mud, she would never return dirty, keeping her composure flawlessly clean. Not even her round glasses would stain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Vio?””</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, nevermind.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“C’est quoi, Pip?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, no, just ignore it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Philippe-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What's it like to be in love?” he would blurt out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She would smile down, her lips parting just a fraction to reveal her two pearly front teeth. “It's like finding your purpose in life.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He would frown and make it as if he taught for a few moments. “But I already know my purpose in life.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“To fight as a soldier."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And, with every time he said that answer, she would kneel to his height and make him look her in the eye. “Philippe, that is what Papa wants for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If I'm his son, I have to-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “Pip, purpose is something you determine by yourself, not with someone else.” she would say.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But you just said falling in love-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It's different, ma petite patate.” Vio would smile sweetly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He would frown again as she kept walking. “Like your petite copine?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She’d whipped around to shoot him a glare, but smiled after a few seconds and put a finger in front of her red lips.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That, minou, is a secret.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vio never approved of him signing up for war- but at least father did. Monsieur Guillet, while not abusive, was a man that brought distaste to the boy since he was young. Now that time had passed, and the horrors of war weighed down on him, the family had all but grown closer, he cursed at himself for depending on the man too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father wanted him to be strong, manly and uncaring of emotions. Cold and calculating- but he was never able to live up to those standards. He cared too much, loved too much. And as a child he made himself hate those traits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But time passed. Monsieur Guillet was blown to pieces, and Vio raised him herself. She never trusted Mother to do it with her terrible traditional ways, and showed him the way of love, no matter the gender.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last time he saw her they were at the train station, and he was at least a head taller than her, dressed up in full uniform and smiling down. Even through her composure, she couldn't hide tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you not to do it, Pip.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“J’ai dû, Vio.” he had whispered as he hugged her. “J’ai dû.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had run his hands through her raven hair one last time, hoping the smell of jasmine would remain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>- - - - - - - - - -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Philippe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand was shaking him awake, and as he opened his eyes a bottle was thrusted into his hands- faces were unrecognisable with all the motion, but he could tell the train had stopped due to the loud and blurring crowd outside the window. He takes the bottle, swinging it and feeling beer burn down his throat- bringing him back to life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People are shouting, crying and tapping the train's exteriors as waves of soldiers flood the station, but he stays in his seat. This is not his home, and nobody is going to greet him with the teary eyes of a mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But just as he turns to face the hall, away from prying eyes, a hand lands on his shoulder and shakes him. It'</span>
  <span>s the English boy- Tommy. He’s smiling, and there's wet tracks down his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on then- you don't want to miss it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy’s eyes shine too much for the hell they've been through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Je… je n’ai pas de famille ici.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Tommy opens his mouth the other boy- Alex, replies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ne vous inquiétez pas.” He motion of Tommy with his head. “ Je suis sûr qu’il veut vous adopter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he quickly translated to Tommy, he couldn't help but smile softly at the thick accent. Even if his letters were stiff in the english way, he could still communicate effectively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adopt- no! Go away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy was pushing Alex out of the cart, floppy hair plastered against his forehead, and turning around to smile at the frenchman and offer him a helping hand to get up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think they’ll like you. I have a sister- she’ll love you, you’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Philippe's eyes widened a little as he recognizes the word in his speech, but takes the boy’s hand to get up. He manages to smile- crooked and probably too melancholic, but a smile nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nous verrons.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translations!<br/>C'est quoi? -  What is it?<br/>Ma petite patate - theres no actual translation, but its a french way of calling a child that must be protected from the cruel world.<br/>Petite copine - girlfriend<br/>Minou - kitten<br/>“J’ai dû - I had to<br/>je n’ai pas de famille ici. - I dont have family here<br/>Ne vous inquiétez pas.“ Je suis sûr qu’il veut vous adopter.” - Don't worry, I'm sure he wants to adopt you.<br/>Nous verrons - We'll see<br/>Drop a comment to make my day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>